


and look how far we've come

by gryffind0rk



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffind0rk/pseuds/gryffind0rk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy finds himself so caught up in liking Lizzie Bennet that he doesn’t realize that he’s doing it (again) until he is. {From their first dance to that fateful phone call at Pemberley.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	and look how far we've come

**Author's Note:**

> The song referenced here, and title is taken from, is So Close by Jon McLaughlin. Please listen as you read. (Doesn't it just remind you of Dizzie?)

The first time he sees her, it's at a wedding.

(It might be a bit cliché to him, but for once, he doesn't mind.)

He doesn't really _see_ her, he thinks to himself later: sure, he gets introduced by Bing to the three girls, and he ends up catching the garter and she ends up catching the bouquet, and according to tradition, they have to dance, so he musters up enough strength to take her hand and lead her onto the dance floor.

And of course, as if he wasn't lucky enough today, he had to dance with some girl he didn't really know at a wedding he wasn't technically invited to, to a slow song he doesn't recognize.

The piano music begins to play, and he remembers he has to at least try to dance. She smiles up at him politely, takes his hand and follows his lead.

The other couples go onto the dance floor, starting to dance to the slow rhythm of the song and _most probably_ , he thought, rolling his eyes, _the beats of their hearts_.

' _You're in my arms, and all the world is calm The music playing on, for only two..'_

"This song's so inappropriate for a wedding," she remarks to herself, and he responds with an, "Excuse me?" thinking to himself, _Oh, no, I have to talk to her now?_

_So close, to reaching_ _That famous happy end, and_ _Almost, believing,_ _This one's not pretend…_

"I mean, not _inappropriate_ ," she clarifies, "Just not … fitting for a wedding."

"How so?" He continues to sway uncomfortably.

_So far, we are_ _so close…_

"Have you heard this song before?" She asks and he shakes his head, looking over her to see Bing and Jane dancing together, while she continues.

"Basically, it sounds like the couple will get their happy ending, but in the end, they just end up getting really close, but not close enough that they can stay together. It's just a bit … fate-tempting."

"Mmm," he nods, and she tries to rack her brain for something else to talk about, so she asks him if he likes it here in town or he likes dancing, and he shortly replies with one word answers and she gives up.

Eventually, it gets to the part where it's quiet between them except for the music. He knows the song's ending and he can feel the relief between both of them as the last line of the song is sung and everyone starts clapping.

He thanks her for the dance, and they both break off to their respective walls, not knowing that that particular dance would be stuck with them for the next few months to come.

* * *

If you asked him then, when was the first time he _really saw_ Lizzie Bennet, he's not sure he can answer that.

The only thing he can say for certain is that, he no longer hated it in town. He remembers Bing's smile when he came home from his first date with Jane and the fact that he'd invited all of them out to a local bar multiple times.

Later on, as he looks back, he remembers that those excursions were much less painful than they had first been. Perhaps because he'd gotten used to the town or he'd been convinced into a couple of drinks, but he remembers that familiar red hair and her two left feet when it came to dancing by herself and her laugh and her rolling her _fine eyes_ at the same time that he did when they noticed Bing and Jane gazing into each other's eyes.

And then he thinks that maybe he remembers a little bit too much about Lizzie Bennet for someone who's had a couple of drinks.

* * *

He sees her more often when she and her sister live in the same house as the three of them for a month.

Bumps into her in the kitchen, when she comes down for breakfast early and he comes back from his daily morning bike ride.

Glimpses her on her tiptoes, reaching for a book on the top bookshelf in the corner of the lounge. (And hitting the shelf, toppling over the books, then quietly cursing to herself.)

Notices her laughing with Jane, chatting with Caroline, politely asking Bing about med school.

Remembers the witty lines she'd fire back when she was in a debate with him.

He notices Lizzie Bennet more than he'd like to, especially now that he's sober.

* * *

He first realizes it that one night when she was still at Netherfield. It was about two in the morning—late enough that everyone was in bed and he would still be up, doing some last-minute reports.

He walks downstairs for some hot chocolate—it reminds him of Gigi, and he misses her suddenly that he makes a note to contact her soon—and he sees that he's not the only one who's out of bed.

The TV's on, but she's lying on the couch, her eyes closed, her chest slowly heaving up and down to the rhythm of sleep, and he can hear soft snores coming from her.

And somehow he realizes he cares about Lizzie Bennet.

Not in a casual way, but in a way that he can only describe is similar to having a song stuck in your head for god knows how long, slowly piecing together lyrics until you finally figure out the name of it.

And then he shakes his head, settles for a glass of water and runs back up to his room, but before he does, he puts a blanket over her because he doesn't want to see her cold.

(She'd always think it was Jane, checking up on her.)

* * *

Months pass, the caring turns into feelings and it bites him back in the ass when he finds himself walking into a room, simultaneously proclaiming his love for her and insulting her family.

It doesn't end well—as over four hundred thousand people he doesn't even know can vouch for that—and it only gets worse for him.

He types in "Lizzie Bennet" onto YouTube and finds she's quite a hit, most of her videos talking about him in that stupid newsie hat that he's not even sure he wore to the wedding.

He forgets to eat that day, watching her videos back to back, not sure if the pangs in his stomach were due to his hunger or seeing _him_ on screen next to her or each insult she'd said about him.

These videos got to show who she really was—but he doesn't hate her. Ironically, it's the opposite because he sees her for who she is: someone who comes from a dysfunctional but loving family, whose friendship was on the rocks but eventually came out even stronger, who's lively and funny and captivating in all the right ways to make even the tiniest detail about her life interesting to over a hundred thousand viewers every week.

So when he says to her that he doesn't care about the things she said about him, he says it with a smile, because he figures that if one good thing came out of her videos, it was that he fell in love with her properly.

(That instead of just knowing the lyrics to that song that was stuck in your head, you finally _understood_ them.)

Even if she didn't feel the same way.

He hands her the letter, knowing he'd have to walk out of that room, trying to forget her. But not before he tries to at least make some things right.

* * *

He does try to get over her.

Fitz tries to make up for his god-awful wingmanning by buying him drinks, Bing occasionally calls him when he's not busy with school while he doesn't reply to Caroline's teasing texts about the incident, and he heads up with Gigi to the ski place that his family has spent Christmas at every year.

For a number of years now, it's only been the two of them, and usually it would have been fine with him, but it seems colder somehow and he can't explain it.

"William, are you alright?" He glances at Gigi, her cheeks pink from the cold, who hands him a cup of hot chocolate. "You're too quiet."

"I'm always quiet," he manages a soft smile.

"Not like this," she sits down in front of him, "Is it a girl?"

He chuckles at his sister, who takes this as some confirmation and gets excited. "Have you been trying to figure out some way to break it to your little sister that you finally found a girl whom you want to bring home to me?"

He sips his hot chocolate, and she doesn't give him time to interrupt, "Because, really, William, you know, I'm twenty now, so I totally understand if you want to have girls over or … _something_. You don't have to hide them."

For the first time in a while, his face contorts into a smile, and he responds with, "I'm trying to imagine the parade of casual lovers you think I'm keeping from you."

"So, you admit there _is_ a parade of casual lovers."

"Gigi," he says in his I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this tone, "There aren't any casual lovers, believe me, much less a parade."

"Any not-so-casual lovers then?"

"Gigi." And he subconsciously tucks his chin back, slouching as much as William Darcy can slouch in a chair, which isn't lost on the younger Darcy.

"Who is it?" She asks, "I know you too well, Will."

After minutes of silence, he's pondering in his head whether or not to tell his sister about a girl whom he wishes he could bring home to her but can't, and she's staring at him, her stubbornness never wavering.

"Lizzie," he basically whispers, "Lizzie Bennet."

"Is she the one who you wrote The Letter to? About George and I?" She thinks back to when he called her in the middle of the night, vaguely asking for her permission to tell someone, and she gave it, thinking it was the least she could do for him.

He nods solemnly and she keeps the name in her head, preparing to do some hardcore creeping on this girl who has her brother in this bad of a state. "You met her over the summer?"

He nods, and the questions keep coming, "Does she like you back? Can I meet her? So, when's the wedding?"

"No, _quite the opposite_ ," he replies shortly, "And that's all I'm saying on this, alright? Goodnight, Gigi."

He kisses the top of her head softly, before heading off to his room, lying on his bed, _not-sleeping_ like he usually does now, thinking about how he hadn't spoken that name in months, and he feels a sort of relief at doing it.

But at the same time, he wonders why it was so hard even speaking about her, and he's forced to realize that Lizzie Bennet, to him, just wasn't the kind of girl you could just _get over_.

* * *

(When he does think he's over her, that's when she comes back into his life.)

He loves his sister; no one could deny that fact.

It's just that, sometimes, he makes a mental note to kill her for the things she does: like shoving him in a room, completely unprepared, in front of the girl whom he was in love with, who was also unprepared to see him.

His hair's slightly messy, the shadow of growing stubble on his jaw prominent, and he looks like he hadn't slept in a while, but the adrenaline kicks in and he's fully awake as he tries his best to show her he's not that same asshole he was a few months back.

"Darcy," she musters, shock coating her words.

"Lizzie," his voice softens, like it usually does when it comes to her.

"I thought you were in LA!"

"Oh, no, I'm, uh … not."

The shock gets wiped off her face for one moment as she exhales a sarcastic "Clearly," and he smiles for a second, nothing more before being forcibly sat down by Gigi.

"Your sister is _crazy_."

"Yes…"

"I didn't mean to surprise you …" they both say and trail off, letting the other talk and interrupting each other again.

From what he can read from her, he thinks she no longer hates him—she compliments his company, she seems to be friends with Gigi, and she politely declines his offer to give her a ride—but then again, he's never been so good at reading her anyway.

"I'll see you around," he says, half-expecting her to object but instead he adds, "If there's anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable …"

She reaches out to touch him on his arm, thanks him; then turns off the camera, says a quick "Bye," and walks out of the room quickly for her dinner. Meanwhile, he leaves the room and goes to his office, throwing himself into his work, trying not to think about how someone, something, had possibly just given him a second chance.

…

When he and Gigi go out to dinner that day, their orders come and they eat in silence, not bringing up what happened, though he can already see Gigi dying for details.

"C'mon, William, how'd it go?" She insists.

"Better," he says, referring to the last time he was in a different room with that same girl, "Better than that."

"Are you mad at me and Fitz for setting you and Lizzie up?"

He hadn't known Gigi even knew about the videos or realized Fitz was in on this as well—he really needed to check his twitter more often—but he's okay with it. "No."

She smiles, taking a piece of his steak, and nibbles on it while he says, "Just no more convoluted plans, okay? Neither Lizzie nor I are comfortable with it."

He realizes he possibly made a Lizzie-ism, which Gigi notices as well but has the good sense not to bring up. "No promises," she replies cheekily.

He gives her his best reprimanding look while they continue to eat their food in a comfortable silence until Gigi breaks it once more.

"I really like her, you know?" She says, out of the blue. "I know you just told me her name, and I watched her videos knowing she hated you, and I went in there, fully thinking I would hate her and …"

"You didn't," he replies, thinking back to when he watched the videos himself.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to." Gigi smiles, "She's funny, she's kind …"

"She doesn't look at me differently," Her voice is quieter now, "She doesn't look at me like I was stupid for ever falling for _him_."

He focuses on eating his steak, because the only other thing he could do would be to think about her.

"She's perfect for you, Will."

Which he smiles at because he's glad Gigi thinks so, but he also thinks that now, if he isn't, he should at least try to be perfect for her too.

* * *

It's an early morning for him, a couple of days after his awkward meeting with Lizzie, and he first bumps into her again in the break room.

"Good morning," he says, and she responds with a cheery "Morning," as well.

He's opening the cupboards, automatically finding the mug with his name on it and he prepares his coffee without looking at where his hands are going.

She notices that she's finally getting to see him where he's comfortable, but she hides it by trying to open cupboards, looking for their tea collection—she'd heard only good things about them—and trying to decide from the variety she's currently faced with.

He comes over for the sugar, adds a tiny bit to his otherwise black coffee, while she's about to choose the Vanilla Rooibos, her favorite.

"The Zen tea with a hint of lemon and honey is quite good," he pipes up from behind her, stirring his coffee, "If you're looking for something different."

He gives her a casual smile, leaving for his office, and he doesn't notice her roll her eyes. She's a little bit annoyed at this—she didn't ask for his opinion, and she'd always hated Zen tea for some reason—but she shakes her head and thinks of New Jane who encourages her to be nicer and try new things.

So she takes a tea bag and puts it in her mug of hot water, adding some lemon and honey, then takes a sip, fully expecting to hate it.

(But no matter how hard she tries, she just doesn't.)

* * *

He walks into the room, red bowtied and newsie-hatted. He feels silly, but the look on Lizzie's face of amused, teasing shock is enough to make him try to suppress a smile on his face.

"It was the closest I could find on short notice," he explains, and she hurries to put on her Plaid Shirt.

"WhydidntyoutellBingaboutmyvi deos?"

As if he didn't already know, Lizzie Bennet was nothing if not direct. But at least he had a chance to explain himself.

"I didn't think it was my place …"

And their little back and forth continues, bringing up plausible points about if Bing really felt strongly about Jane, he wouldn't give up so easily, to which she exasperatedly says, "Isn't finding happiness hard enough? Why is it your job or my job or anyone else's job to test the strength of their relationship?"

 _Yes,_ he answers in his mind, _finding happiness was hard enough. But it's even harder if you couldn't keep it._

…

"Do you think Bing still cares about Jane?" she ventures timidly, looking at her shoulder then at his eyes.

He realizes how close their shoulders are, and that she wouldn't be the first to break eye contact. He's not sure if they're even talking about Bing and Jane anymore. But he takes off the cap, and it just seems a bit too real for her.

"I think … you should ask him." He replies softly, seeing that her eyes decided to be distinctly blue today rather than blue-green, though it might just be the lighting.

(But the lighting didn't affect the look of confusion on her face as she tried to compare the man she'd met last summer to the man in front of her.)

She takes off her Plaid Shirt, not daring to look at him in the eyes, thanking him for being helpful and dismissing him.

"Very well," he nods, then smoothly makes his way out of the room, his eyes still on hers the entire time.

He tries to think about work and not about the fact that Lizzie asked him, of all people, to costume theatre with her that he forgets to take the bowtie off for the rest of the day.

* * *

They pass each other in the hallways.

He knows that if it hadn't been for Gigi, their exchanges would have been even more awkward than last summer, but they are civil, if not friendly.

Their greetings eventually grow from looks to polite nods to giving a smile and saying hello.

It's enough to make his early mornings better and put a nice end to his day.

He crosses out that previous mental note to kill Gigi.

* * *

To say he was nervous was an understatement, though he'd never admit it.

He'd gotten dressed quickly, wearing his glasses as he'd forgotten to put in his contacts in his rush, while Gigi seemed completely at ease, enjoying William's discomposure a bit more than she'd let on.

They were in the car, driving over to Lizzie's place when he'd reminded her.

"Remember, Gigi—"

"I know, William, no convoluted plans."

"Good," he replies, his eyes on the road, wanting to thank his sister for inviting Lizzie out, for liking her, but choosing to stay quiet.

"You're welcome, Will." She says with a knowing smile, "Now, just loosen up and have fun."

…

They head over to a nearby café to get some breakfast quickly, before setting out to start their day. He notices that Gigi is keeping her no-convoluted-plans promise, but still manages to get Lizzie in the front seat because "Coach Annesley wants me to stretch my legs out for tomorrow's tennis practice" and tweets out pictures for the Internet.

He's mainly their driver—going from the Wharf to the hills to Alcatraz and Fort Mason—before Gigi shoots him a look that tells him to talk a bit more to Lizzie.

When Gigi goes to get them some water, he gives Lizzie a soft smile. "So, how are you enjoying the city?"

"San Francisco is amazing; I can see why you like it here."

"I think most tend to overlook it when they come to California—Los Angeles is much more of a popular spot." He remarks, "But San Francisco is one of those cities that is beautiful if you look closely."

"A few months ago, I would have thought you were just being a hipster," she chuckles, "But you're right."

They can hear the wind blowing softly as they stare at the distance.

"It's different," she sighs, looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just, you see all these landmarks in movies, in postcards … but it's different. Actually being here, you know?" She looks at him. "Being here is so much more different than just seeing a picture."

"Is it a good different?" He asks hesitantly, "Is being here a good different?"

Her eyes don't leave him. "A really good different."

Gigi returns with their waters, takes a picture and they decide to move on to the next destination, walking side-by-side to the car, their hands close enough that they can feel the warmth of the other's.

…

Lizzie's not really sure where they are, but she thinks of Lydia at that moment.

Gigi and Darcy are having a little argument about the year their parents had taken them around San Francisco like tourists—she's amazed at the patience Darcy has for his sister, and how, after, they continue like nothing happened—and she gives them some space by throwing a penny in the nearby fountain, thinking about calling Lydia in that moment.

She feels his presence coming closer, and he's next to her. "Are you alright, Lizzie?"

"Yeah," she nods, not noticing that she automatically knew it was just him, "Just missing Lydia, oddly enough."

"It's not odd to miss your sister, no matter how frustrating they can be," he says, fondly looking at Gigi, who's checking her phone. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to imply anything about your sister, especially after what happened—"

"It's alright."

"I am sorry, Lizzie, for Lydia," and she looks at him confused, "I didn't know my comment would lead to that."

"It's not your fault, Darcy," she sighs, "It's mine."

They nod in understanding and move on from the subject, suddenly fascinated by a building far off in the distance.

Gigi takes a picture, and they both react. She looks at it, just smiles and says, "Candid looks good on you two."

They blush a bit, and continue. Their conversation the rest of the day doesn't encroach on dangerous territory, and she finds herself laughing and enjoying herself more than she already was a few hours ago.

…

Before they finish their day, Gigi insists on taking Lizzie for some coffee.

"Gigi, if Lizzie is tired, we can't force her—"

"Actually, I'd love to go."

His heart swells with a bit of hope that the day could go on a bit longer, and after ten minutes of driving with Lizzie and Gigi chatting and laughing with him (which he could get used to, he thinks), they arrive.

The two girls go order at the counter while he sits in a corner, finally checking his phone once in the entire day, and sees a notification from twitter—"Today I get to see the city with **ggdarcy** and **wmdarcy**. **#excited** ", Lizzie tweeted.

He puts away his phone, smiling to himself at the tweet and hears the song change to familiar piano music playing on the speaker.

' _You're in my arms, and all the world is calm The music playing on, for only two...'_

Lizzie chooses that moment to join him, and he wonders if she remembers this song.

"This song seems much more fitting in a café than a wedding." He says nonchalantly.

She smiles at him, looking down at her nails, remembering months ago, she had the most awkward dance ever to this song with the man she had just spent the entire day with.

_So close, to reaching_ _That famous happy end, and_ _Almost, believing,_ _This one's not pretend…_

"In all the months I've known you, I've never seen you wear your glasses once."

"They tend to get in the way," He replies, "I never liked wearing them when I was young."

"I like them. They suit you," she smiles and he smiles back at her.

Gigi waltzes in, timely as ever, with the three drinks in their holder. "Alright, hot chocolate for me, and two Zen teas with lemon and honey, as ordered," she chirps.

"But what about Li—"

"Oh, um, the other one's mine," Lizzie says, taking the other one and sipping it, "You're right, it is different. Good different."

He hears the words, meets her eyes, half-expecting Gigi to smirk at him, but she's just sipping her hot chocolate, checking her phone. He's glad that they have something that only they understand.

…

The drive back to Lizzie's house is quiet, but for once, it doesn't seem awkward between them.

He pulls up in the front, and they turn to see Gigi leaning against the door, fast asleep, when Lizzie pulls out her phone and takes a picture.

"She's taken so many pictures today, and she hasn't been in one." Lizzie smirks, and he chuckles. "Tell Gigi I said bye."

"I could wake her up—"

"Nah, let the little shutterbug sleep."

They keep eye contact, not really knowing what to do—if this was a movie, this would be the part where he would give her a kiss goodnight after their date; but this was neither a movie, nor a date—and she breaks it by saying, "I had fun today."

"So did I," he nods.

"Thanks for the ride, goodnight." She leaves with a smile, lingering at the doorway until she sees him drive off.

The drive to the other side of town allows him time to think, but he doesn't let himself finish most of these thoughts because they all involve Lizzie and he doesn't want to make himself hope too much again.

When they arrive, he wakes up Gigi, who groggily asks where they are and makes her way upstairs for a shower. He checks his phone for the first time that day—time, especially today, was precious—and sees another tweet from Lizzie, addressed specifically to him.

 **TheLizzieBennet: wmdarcy** Thank you and Gigi for an awesome day.

He thinks he should be thanking her, but he's about to tweet back "My pleasure" before realizing he should change that.

 **wmdarcy: TheLizzieBennet** Our pleasure.

He showers, says goodnight to Gigi, and lies in bed, slowly falling asleep while the feeling of hope wakes up inside of him.

* * *

As soon as he walks in that Monday, Gigi greets him with, "Lizzie wants you, William."

"Gigi, I've told you to not interfere with mine and Lizzie's respective affairs—"

She smirks. "She wants to _interview_ you for her independent study, doofus."

"Oh. I'll be right there," he nods, trying to mask the red creeping on his cheeks.

She walks away—he can tell she's smiling to herself, and he feels like banging his head on the wall, but instead goes to his office to check his schedule for the day.

There was little space—he had already missed a meeting with a large international media corporation and they were able to reschedule for 8:00am today. It was in an hour, and he knocks on Lizzie's door, figuring that's enough time for his interview.

"Excuse me, Lizzie," he clears his throat, "Gigi told me you wanted me."

The words are out of his mouth before he realizes what he says, and her eyes widen.

"Sh-She did?"

"Yes, for an interview … for your independent study?"

The relief he can detect when she says, "Yes. That is if you have the time and don't mind appearing on my videos again, some more," speaks volumes and confuses him at the same time.

"No, I don't mind, and yes, I have the time … or I'll make it." He wonders if that makes him sound like he's too busy for her, but there's a sparkle in her blue eyes when she replies, and he internally sighs, relieved, while she gets up to close the door.

…

He's not really sure how, but the hour passes, the interview somehow gets finished, and he's wearing an afro.

The camera is shut off by Lizzie, who's still trying to stifle her laughter.

(He has a list of certain things he doesn't want to forget—the smell of his mother's perfume; his father's voice; Gigi's first word, 'William!'—and he adds her laugh onto that mental list.)

"Thanks for the interview, it was …" She stops herself from saying _Illuminating_ , "Helpful."

He opens the door, gesturing for her to go first, "It's no problem."

"Oh, Gigi asked me for lunch, and I was wondering if you'd like to join us today," she says easily, not thinking about how she'd started to like someone who she'd sworn to hate.

He grins uncharacteristically, but she finds it looks good on him. "I'd love to."

They walk to the break room for some coffee, when Reynolds interrupts them.

"Mr. Darcy, the head of the … Sir, why are you wearing an afro?"

Lizzie bursts out laughing while he quickly takes it off, breaking into laughter as well when Lizzie manages to drop her muffin on the floor from laughing too much.

He gives the afro to Lizzie, both of them regaining some composure but still a bit red from laughing, "I'll see you later, Lizzie."

"I'll see you for lunch," Lizzie replies.

* * *

He doesn't really think too much about seeing her for lunch until she actually shows up at his office with food from the cafeteria, a couple of hours later.

"Lizzie," he smiles. (He notices he smiles more when it comes to her.)

"You look busy, I can come back—"

"No, please, sit." He gestures to the two seats in front of his desk. "Looks like we're eating in?"

"We were going to eat out, but I know how busy you are. Gigi said she'd join us soon, but she just needed to take care of some stuff." She sits, helping him clear some papers of his desk then taking out food from the bag.

"Alright, veggie pizza for me, and I got you some spaghetti, cause Gigi said it was your favorite."

"It is, thank you," He takes the spoon and uses it to help him twirl the spaghetti with his fork. Lizzie nibbles on her pizza, noticing as he eats it.

"What?"

"The spoon," she laughs quietly, "How you use it with your spaghetti … it just makes sense for you to do that. I don't really know how, but it does."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he says.

…

"Well, we spent a few years in Paris before we moved back to San Francisco." He replies.

"Oh, so that's why you pronounce Gigi's name like that."

"Like how?"

"Well, everyone else says _Gigi_ and you say it like," She puts on her best French accent, _"Zhee-Zhee."_

He chuckles, "I don't pronounce it like that."

"Um, yeah, you do." She looks at him, half-joking.

He rolls his eyes, "As good as your Southern accent is, your French accent does leave something to be desired."

She hits him on his shoulder teasingly. "Shut up."

…

"How have you not seen a single episode of Friends?"

"I've seen parts when Gigi watches; however, I haven't had the time—"

"You cannot call yourself the CEO of a media company when you have not watched the show that basically changed TV forever."

…

"I'd love to visit Paris, but I'm fairly certain I'd get deported for butchering their language."

"French is simple enough if you know other languages."

"You're one to talk. How long did you say you lived there, again?" Lizzie arches an eyebrow.

He arches his eyebrow in response. "Well, how long did you take that French course before you gave up, again?"

"Hey! _Lady Marmalade_ taught me more French than that course ever did."

"What's _Lady Marmalade_?"

"You _have_ to know that song, oh my god. You know! _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir_?"

He tries to stifle a laugh. "Do you know what you said?"

"No."

"You just asked me if I wanted to sleep with you tonight."

She freezes, her cheeks redder by the second, and he laughs.

…

"And then Gigi starts laughing so hard that everyone in the karaoke bar is staring at her, and I, being the soberer—more sober?"

"Soberer." He nods.

"Soberer of the two of us—have to haul her out before we get thrown out of the bar. God, if Lydia and Gigi were to ever drink together, there might be an alcohol shortage."

They both laugh, and he says, "Thank you, Lizzie."

"For what?"

"For being someone Gigi can … open up to." She can tell he'd seen the video of her and Gigi talking about him.

"So, you don't hate me?"

"I'd never dare hate you, Lizzie."

She smiles to herself.

…

Their conversation continues until the hour's done, when he checks his watch.

"Well, I won't keep you from your work." Lizzie sighs, "Thanks for having me."

"Thank you for having lunch with me." He smiles at her, as she walks out.

Only now do they realize that Gigi was supposed to meet with them.

* * *

The next day, he's the one who goes to her for lunch, and they decide on getting lunch from one of the gourmet food trucks visiting Pemberley.

She says she wants to take advantage of the lovely weather and the immaculate Japanese garden, so they take a seat under the tree for shade.

It's quiet before he breaks it. "So, I managed to watch that episode of Friends you texted me about."

"And?" Lizzie waits for his reaction, dipping her fry in ketchup and eating it.

"They were definitely on a break."

"They were not!" He notices the certain fire in her eyes whenever she was really passionate about something in the blue-green shade they were today.

He counters. "Rachel even said they were on a break."

"But that gave Ross no right to sleep with someone else!"

They manage to debate about this for the next ten minutes.

…

"I've always wanted to see _Les Miserables_ on stage. I refuse to see the movie without seeing it at least once in the theatre."

"It's Gigi's favorite. She's convinced me to accompany her twice, and at the risk of sounding _hipster_ —" She rolls her eyes at this—"I'd have to recommend the theatre production much more than a movie theatre."

"Duly noted," she smiles.

…

She's humming a song that seems familiar to him, and for good reason—it was the song they heard in the café and the one they first danced to at the wedding.

"Why did you call me decent enough?"

She notices him blink quickly, tuck his chin back, obviously taken aback, and she apologizes for the random question.

"No, no. Truthfully … I'd forgotten to put my contacts in that day."

She laughs at this, but stops herself. "You should wear your glasses more often."

There's a few minutes of silence again.

"I was wrong about a lot of things, Lizzie." His voice is quiet, but his blue eyes show his sincerity.

"So was I," she nods, wondering if that would be the closest they'd ever get to apologizing.

…

"You don't get it."

"What is there to get?"

"They are completely different!"

"They are both made of the same batter, Lizzie."

"There is a _difference_ , Darcy, between pancakes and waffles."

"I suppose they are different, but essentially, they are the same."

"No, they're not! Waffles are infinitely better than pancakes."

"They're made of the same batter." He repeats.

"And yet, waffles are still better than pancakes."

…

"Did you ever want to not be named William?" She questions suddenly.

He ponders this for a moment before replying, "I think that, in my family, it certainly has its … legacy to live up to. And while occasionally, I do feel like I don't really live up to my name, I do think I've done my part to."

She considers this, satisfied with his answer. "I think you're doing a pretty good job, Will."

"Thank you."

He thinks about how comfortable his name was in her mouth, and how he was always called _William_ or _Darcy_. The two names forced him to live up to a certain expectation, and for once, he's glad that he could be _Will_.

Just _Will_ to her.

* * *

He hears Fitz's voice in his head, telling him to calm down and lighten up, as he knocks on the door.

(He's tried the entire night to mentally prepare himself, gathering the courage to do this once more. Fitz reassures him that she doesn't hate him anymore, but it still doesn't help with his nerves.)

"Come in," she says brightly.

"Good afternoon, Lizzie." He relaxes a bit when he sees her smile at him.

"Good afternoon to you."

He takes a seat beside her, asking her how she was doing, and he can smell her perfume as she leans near him and asks him how his day was going.

"Well, hopefully, today will be a pretty good day … too." He mentally shakes his head, the Gigi and Fitz in his head telling him to relax.

"Was there something you needed from me?"

"Oh no, that is to say … yes, I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay." She looks at him intently.

He thinks for a minute as to how he can summarize that he booked tickets for the theatre tonight while not scaring her off by making her think it was a date if she didn't want it to be.

"My sister and I have a box at the theatre and I was wondering if you'd like to attend … tonight."

Her phone beeps, alerting her to check it. He's slightly thrown, but quickly recovers when she turns to him, and tells him she'd love to go with him and Gigi tonight.

"Actually, Gigi has an engagement, so it would just be you and … me." He clarifies.

He doesn't trust himself to read the look on her face as her approval, but he has to admit that it wasn't the face of someone who looked like they were going to decline. He'd never know though because in the next few minutes, the look on her face changes from happiness to anger to sadness all because of _George Wickham_ once again.

"Lizzie, are you alright?" He ventures softly, breaking her out of her trance.

"No," she stands up, "I have to pack. Where's my bag?"

His hand trails down her shoulder, "Lizzie, let me help you."

"No, you can't, no one can …" Her voice does its best not to shake, but there's no mistaking the helplessness in it.

"Just please tell me what's going on … you mentioned something about George Wickham?"

She explains about Lydia and Wickham, shows him the website on her phone, and they're both shocked by what they see.

"I could've prevented this." Lizzie shakily admits to herself.

"Lizzie, this is not your fault." His hand makes its way to the small of her back, but it doesn't help to calm her down.

"Then whose fault is it?"

(He hears her talking, but this phrase stays with him, plays in the depths of his mind, while guilt soon follows.)

"We'll get you on the next flight out."

"No, no—"

"I insist." He says it resolutely, no room for arguing with him.

He stands up, before he's stopped by her voice.

"Darcy …"

It was a long way from _Darcy_ to _Will_ and he can't help but feel like they're back at the start with the use of his last name.

"Thank you."

He remembers the past few weeks—laughing with Lizzie under the tree, the car ride around San Francisco, costume theatre, the awkward meeting—even going back to when he first realizes he cares about her.

_Not in a casual way, but in a way that he can only describe is similar to having a song stuck in your head and you finally figure out the name of it._

He thinks about their first dance—he doesn't even remember the man who ignored her and called her decent enough, but he suddenly remembers the song playing in the background as the dance finishes.

_That instead of just knowing the lyrics to that song that was stuck in your head, you finally understood them._

"There will be a car downstairs for you in five minutes." He musters, before he left that room again, knowing that fate wouldn't give him another chance, that this time, he _had_ to get over her. But not before he made things right again.

(And as he turns away from her, he can hear the song in his mind coming to an end.

 _So close, so close … and still, so far._ )

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please Kudos or comment. This took me weeks, so please let me know of your thoughts.


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